


FIVE TIMES CHRIS SHOWED JIM THAT HE CARED AND ONE TIME THAT JIM CARED TOO

by Baringa



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Other, father/son bonding, mentions of M/M but does not contain any, not exactly hurt/comfort but hurt/comfort adjacent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 14:32:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3450638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baringa/pseuds/Baringa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title is self explanatory. I'm fairly new to fan-writing so feedback is appreciated. This story has been beta'd.</p>
            </blockquote>





	FIVE TIMES CHRIS SHOWED JIM THAT HE CARED AND ONE TIME THAT JIM CARED TOO

FIVE TIMES CHRIS SHOWED JIM THAT HE CARED AND ONE TIME THAT JIM CARED TOO

The first time it happened was a surprise.

“James T Kirk?” asked the delivery girl, not bothering to take off her helmet as she handed him a PADD to sign for the package.

“Yes,” replied Jim, accepting what was clearly a bottle of alcohol under its professional wrapping. He began tearing the paper and ribbons off almost before he stepped inside his dorm, allowing the door to swish closed behind him. Underneath was a bottle of top-shelf rum, far better than Jim could afford on his Starfleet cadet allowance, even supplemented as it was with the sale of individualized university essays to trust-fund kids who were too busy partying to actually study.

The tag simply read: “Knew you could do it. CP.” Jim inhaled sharply, setting the bottle on the counter to the tiny shared kitchenette with unnecessary reverence. He had just successfully completed his first year as a Starfleet Cadet. Not only had he finished at the top of the class for six of the eight compulsory first year subjects, but he had finished in the top ten percent for the remaining two first year classes as well as the four second year classes that he had undertaken.

His mother, stationed aboard the USS Unity, had simply hummed when he had told her of his achievement during his monthly comm call, then reminded him to call his grandmother for her birthday. Jim hadn’t bothered telling anyone else, assuming that they would care even less than his mother. His throat tightened as he surveyed the unassuming looking bottle. He hadn’t believed that Captain Pike would follow his progress, had believed that the captain’s responsibility began and ended with Jim’s recruitment. He didn’t know what to do with this tangible proof that someone was keeping an eye on him, that someone did care whether or not he succeeded. After deliberating for several days, he sent a brief message.

“Thanks for the rum. I shared it with my roommate, Bones (Dr Leonard McCoy), on Christmas Day. Hope you had a good Christmas yourself.”

To his surprise, the captain replied the next day. For reasons that Jim was trying not to think about, he responded in turn, and soon Cadet Kirk and Captain Pike were corresponding on a semi-regular basis. Certainly more frequently than with any member of his family. He commed his mother once a month. Sometimes she was available to talk, sometimes she wasn’t. She never called back. His brother was much the same. He sent a message once a month or so, usually straight after he commed Winona. Sam’s reply, if there was one, would be a brief update on his work and family, and responses to any inquiries that Jim had made of him. He never asked after Jim.

The second time was a few months after that first message. Jim was facing a dilemma with his subject choices for the following year. There was a choice of two subjects for command track candidates, and Jim honestly had no idea which would be of more benefit to his ultimate goal of becoming a Starship Captain. He deliberated for over a week before finally sending a message asking Captain Pike for advice. He reasoned that the worst that could happen was that the captain would just refuse to answer.

What he did not expect was for Captain Pike to message back later that evening, inviting Jim for grilled steaks and beers on Friday. “We’ll eat early” the Captain had said. “I know you’ll have plans for later in the evening, I do remember the importance of Friday nights to Starfleet cadets.”

Despite his initial reservations (and the nerves that left him standing on the captain’s stoop for almost ten minutes, passing his host gift of a bottle of red wine from hand to hand, before ringing the door chime), Jim had enjoyed the evening, staying far longer than he originally intended. The captain, or Chris, as he had asked Jim to call him when off-duty, had a way of getting him to open up that so far only Bones had come close to matching. Jim had eyed his beer, wondering if Pike had slipped something into it, when he found himself confessing his constant fear that he would never live up to the expectations attached to his paternity. He left feeling strangely reassured and not entirely certain how he came to be feeling that way.

The third time happened about three-quarters of the way through Jim’s second year. Pike had been deployed for around six months for a top-secret mission on the USS Farragut. For the first two months, Pike had continued his correspondence with Jim. At least once or twice a week, he would send a message; even if Jim had gotten caught up with his studies and not replied to his last message. Frequently, it was just something short like “passed a unique trinary system yesterday. Got some incredible readings. I wouldn’t be surprised if they made it into your advanced interstellar navigation class next semester.” These were the messages that Jim secretly liked best, the ones where Chris made no effort to hide how excited he still got over something new he had learnt about the universe. It was a contrast with the way that he allowed everyone else to see him; strict, a little stern and _always_ professional.

But then came a message stating that he wouldn’t be able to write for a while. They had reached a critical point in their mission and would be under radio silence for the duration. It annoyed Jim how much he missed those messages over those long four months. He dealt with it by throwing himself into his studies, vowing to himself that he would be top in all six of the second and third year courses he was attempting that semester.

Less than a week before the first of his mid-semester exams, he heard from Chris: “Arrive home in two days, on Tuesday afternoon. How about dinner on Wednesday at that ribs and steak place you like near the river? My treat.” Jim tried to pass the warm, relieved feeling in his chest off as indigestion.

“Jim,” Chris had greeted him with a large smile and, to Jim’s shock, a warm hug. “It’s good to see you, how have you been? You look exhausted.”

Despite his initial discomfort with the hug, Jim found himself relaxing more and more as the dinner progressed. The captain, with tempered excitement, regaled Jim with the parts of the mission that did not fall under security classification. Jim offered a few amusing anecdotes about Bones and his efforts to woo several medical students at the same time. Bones had claimed he wanted to increase his chances by cultivating multiple options; however, it had backfired spectacularly when they found out about each other.

Jim himself had been too caught up with school to have the energy for more than a few drunken quickies in pub bathrooms, and the captain was well acquainted with Bones, both through Jim and through Bones’ role in Starfleet Medical.

“And what about you, son? Any lucky ladies caught your eye?” Chris hesitated. “Or men, I suppose, nothing like cultivating multiple options.”

Jim let out a surprised laugh. “Nothing that’s held my attention, I’ve been pretty busy with work.”

“So I’ve heard,” replied Chris. Jim wondered what exactly Chris had heard and from whom. He worked hard, but he also wasn’t afraid to use his natural intelligence and confidence, confidence that some may see as cocky, to challenge his teachers. As a result, there were some teachers that were less than impressed with his attitude, even if they couldn’t find fault with his work.

Chris had continued talking. “Son, you know that it’s alright to take a break, don’t you? I’m certainly not going to hold it against you if you don’t get a perfect score on a couple of advanced warp mechanics mid-terms.” He was watching Jim carefully, as though the question was important to him for some reason.

Jim couldn’t hold his eye. He glanced down for a moment, trailing his fingers through the condensation on his beer glass before clutching it tighter. “Thanks,” he said quietly without looking up, but then he put on a cheeky grin and met Chris’s eye, continuing, “but you know it impresses the ladies in uniform… and the men, if you can brag about your perfect scores.” He used his fingers in the universal sign for air quotes on the words ‘perfect scores’.

Chris laughed, apparently happy to let the matter drop now that he’d made his point. He let Jim distract him with a lively explanation of why the Starfleet cadet uniforms were to blame for fifteen percent of his first year class failing ‘Introduction to Interspecies Relations’ the year before. However, as they were leaving, he gave Jim another quick hug and, holding his shoulders at arm’s length, said, “Take care of yourself, Jim. I never thought I’d need to say this to you, but make sure you get enough downtime.”

Jim swallowed the lump that suddenly appeared in his throat.

“I’m going to be around for the next few months at least, so if you need _anything_ , you know where to find me. I know you have mid-terms for the next few weeks, but after they’re over, I expect you over again for dinner.”

Jim watched Chris as he walked towards his car. “He called me _son,_ ” he suddenly remembered. “Twice.” Jim tried not to read anything into it as he turned towards campus, but he couldn’t help smiling.

He hadn’t felt like anyone had cared about him like that since he began to resemble is father so much that his mother could barely look at him. It was probably not a co-incidence that this was when she had started to accept off-planet assignments, leaving him with his step-father. In fact, the last time he’d felt like his mother had looked at him and seen him instead of his father was just before he’d turned nine. He’d fallen off his hover bike and knocked himself out. His mother had cradled Jim in her arms, whispering reassurances to him the whole way to the local hospital. Three weeks later, just after his ninth birthday, his mother had accepted the first of many off-world assignments.

The fourth time was less than two weeks later. Jim had finished mid-terms the day before and was attending a guest lecture by Captain Pike in the usual morning slot for ‘Intermediate Interspecies Relations’. He stumbled into the lecture theatre five minutes late and dropped shivering into the first empty seat, sweat beading on his temples. He’d felt Pike’s eyes on him all the way to his seat, and he slunk down in embarrassment, worried that Chris would think that he was taking advantage of their friendship. The truth was that he’d collapsed into bed directly after his last exam the evening before and slept right through his usual alarm. He’d woken twenty minutes before the lecture was due to start, feeling exhausted, cold and achy despite almost 14 hours of sleep. He’d jumped straight up and grabbed his bag, still wearing a wrinkled cadet uniform from the day before, and run to the lecture hall.

He struggled to stay awake through the two-hour lecture despite how awful he felt. When Captain Pike dismissed the class, he grabbed his bag, hoping to slink out with the crowds and crawl back into bed. However, before he could do so, he heard Captain Pike raise his voice: “Cadet Kirk, stay behind for a moment.”

A few other cadets glanced at Jim and snickered, assuming that he was about to be taken to task for his tardiness. Jim couldn’t bring himself to care and slumped into a seat in the front row, waiting for Chris to answer the questions of the small group of cadets that had crowded around the lectern. He didn’t notice that they had left and that he and Chris were alone until he felt a hand clasp his shoulder. He looked up into Chris’s face which was filled with worry as he moved his hand to cup Jim’s cheek. “Come on, son,” he said softly, still frowning in concern. “I sent a message to your friend Bones during the lecture, he’s waiting for us at the clinic.”

An hour, three hyposprays and a lecture from Bones later, Jim found himself curled up in a bed in Chris’s spare room that was far more comfortable than the beds in the cadet quarters. Chris himself was downstairs attempting to make soup, although before he left he had smoothed Jim’s hair back and confessed that he wasn’t much of a cook and may have to resort to either ordering in or using the replicator.

The fifth time was actually the first time Jim had ever really earned Chris’s anger. It happened the day after Jim had beaten the Kobyashi Maru by programming a subroutine into the test. Admiral Komack had called an assembly that all cadets were to attend. As he was heading in beside Bones, Jim felt an arm grabbing his and dragging him around a corner. He almost fought back before realizing that it was Chris and hurrying to catch up with him. He followed Chris into an office that obviously wasn’t his, given the pictures of an unfamiliar Starfleet officer with what appeared to be her partner and three children.

Chris shut the door behind them and turned to face Jim, a look of fury on his face, something that Jim had never seen before. “What the _hell_ were you thinking, Jim?” In contrast to his expression, his voice was tightly controlled. Jim flinched, he tried to hide it, but Chris obviously noticed as he stepped back and took a deep breath. “Just tell me what the hell you were thinking, Jim, because I am really not understanding this.” He took another deep breath, one hand clutching the back of a chair, the other running through his hair. He looked closer to losing control than Jim had ever seen him and, although he would never admit it, it was worrying.

Chris gripped the back of the chair and fixed Jim with a serious look. “Jim, this assembly was called because of you. Komack was forced to call it when one of the Commanders in charge of the simulation accused you of academic misconduct. I don’t understand why you would risk everything that you have worked so hard for, please explain it to me?”

Jim allowed a flicker of vulnerability to cross his face, one that only Chris and Bones had ever seen before. He swallowed. “I didn’t…” he started. “You know I wouldn’t mean it like that, Chri… Captain. I thought they wanted us to… I didn’t realize….” He stopped and took a deep breath himself, looking down at Chris’s shoes before trying again. “I don’t believe in no-win scenarios, I _can’t_ believe in no-win scenarios, Chris.” He looked up and met Chris’s eyes. “I’ll be a Starship captain one day, Chris. There will be hundreds of lives, perhaps more, depending on the decisions that I make…” He paused and took another breath, shakier this time. “If I start believing that there are no-win situations, I might give up and accept it. And I won’t do that. I _can’t_.” He looked down again, and started when he felt Chris’s hand on his neck. He looked into the captain’s eyes. The earlier anger was gone, replaced with understanding.

“Okay,” said Chris softly. “You need to go now, but remember that I will be there, Jim. I’ll speak for you… I’ll fight for you as much as I can, son.”

Chris ducked out the door, and Jim followed after taking several deep breaths and shaking his shoulders back, pulling his usual cocky optimism around him like a cloak.

 

EPILOGUE – Jim cares too

It was after the Narada incident. As soon as Jim and Spock had returned from the Narada and passed Chris off to Bones, Chris had passed out again, and stayed out for several days. As soon as he had been debriefed, Jim had gone straight to the med centre, ignoring all the parties and celebrations. He didn’t move from Chris’s side, apart from when forced by Bones to tend to necessary bodily functions, for more than two days.

On the third day, he woke up from where he had fallen asleep in a hard hospital armchair, his head resting against the metal bars of the bed. Chris’s hand was on his arm, and he was smiling at Jim from where he was propped up in a sitting position on the bed. Jim’s eyes filled with silent tears and he made a choked sound before he flung himself at Chris. “I…” he started, his voice muffled from where his face was buried in Chris’s chest. Chris’s hand cradled the back of his head, his other arm rubbing Jim’s back.

“It’s alright, son” he said, and Jim could hear the smile in his voice, “I know.”

 

THE END

 


End file.
